


Killer; Friend

by RagtimeSpecter



Category: The Exorcist - William Peter Blatty, The Exorcist III (1990)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Movie Night, POV Second Person, Platonic Relationships, Swearing, found family kinda, gender neutral reader, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagtimeSpecter/pseuds/RagtimeSpecter
Summary: You’re the unofficial adopted child of the ghost of the infamous serial killer, James Vennamun, who turns out to have a soft spot for down-on-their-luck kids and popcorn.(I’ve never seen/read Legion/The Exorcist III, sorry if it’s ooc).
Relationships: James Vennamun & Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Killer; Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charlesleeray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesleeray/gifts).



> This is a birthday present for my friend, Martin! It’s pretty short and simple, also I’ve never seen or read The Exorcist III so I hope it’s not too ooc, I tried to do research with a few clips and Wikipedia articles. Also please note this fic is entirely platonic, sorta like a found family deal. Enjoy!

You couldn't remember being this happy to go to the gas station before. Everyone loves a good slurpee or some chips, but most of the time they get to love it alone. Luckily, you had nothing short of the best company in town— if you could even call a ghost company. 

"Cherry or blue raz?" You look back at the flickering form of a scrappy-looking young man behind you. He's curly-haired and permanently bleeding from the nose, with sunken eyes and a smile that often barely scratched his eyes. Right now, though, he was smiling down at you like a farmer watching his chicks. 

"I dunno what either of those are," he responded, tapping the blue spigot of the slush machine with curiosity. "Blue raspberry?" You nod, and he cocks his head to the side. "I've never heard of it."

"It's just blueberry and raspberry together. Wanna try it?" He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. 

"You can bring everything up front, I'll go get the popcorn." He hands you some cash and floats off, leaving you alone under the warm fluorescent light of the soda and slurpee aisle.

You can't help but feel strangely empty trying to recall another time like this. You'd never been somewhere so casual but felt so excited. It was nothing romantic, but it was comforting, like being a child and having your parents walk you through a park. 

The cashier rings you up easily, punching in the numbers for your drink and scanning your boxes of candy. "Is that gonna be all—?" She starts to ask, before she yells and scrambles out of the way. A bag of popcorn hits the liquor shelf behind her, and you snort a bit into your hand. You try to elbow James behind you, but he moves to the side and ruffles your hair.

"Yes," he says, his voice raspy but calm, "it will."

"I— yes, sir." The cashier is saucer-eyed and frog-lipped as she quickly scans your popcorn and shoves the bag at you. You smile brightly and pass her the ten dollar value listed on the register in blinking green letters. 

"Keep the change," you say, snickering when James shook the register and got her to scream on the way out.

•••

"You didn't have to scare her that bad, y'know," you say, a laugh in your voice. He shrugs, tossing some popcorn back into his mouth (you've just accepted that the popcorn goes somewhere, at this point, whether it's somehow digested or transported to some alternate dimension).

"I'm funny like that. I suppose I was always about the theatrics. Tubes and crucifixes and all of it, I'm quite fond of the taunt before the—" He claps his hands. "You see?"

"Well you're gonna love Child's Play then," You reply, unlocking the door and walking inside. You throw the snacks onto the couch, the sound echoing in the empty but cozy home you stayed in. James locks the door and goes to grab some blankets while you get to work setting up the DVD player and sorting through your stack of movies. 

By the time you've skipped all the commercials and situated yourself, James is back. He tosses a warm and plush blanket on you. "I ran them through the dryer, pardon the wait," he adds, before sitting down next to you and pressing play on the film. You clap your hands giddily as the lights dim and turn off. He almost blends in with the couch, but you can still see him smiling and leaning on his hand while he watches Charles Lee Ray run down the street. You mention it looks like him somewhere along the line and he laughs. 

Around the twenty minute mark, you find yourself drifting off a bit over an empty box of candies. The image of Karen taking Chucky from the peddler starts to fade as you lean back and start to snooze under the warm embrace of your blanket. 

You couldn't help but feel your face light up with a sleepy smile when you feel him pick you up and start walking you upstairs, setting you in your bed and tucking you in. When he pats your shoulder, you expect him to leave, but instead you feel the bed dip near the foot and hear the flipping of a book— then, the hook of a story you're all too familiar with.

"Goodnight, moon..."


End file.
